64 Prompts
by entirelysomeoneelse
Summary: Sixty-four Damn Prompts - A Multi-Fandom Prompt List. Sixty-four oneshots for BBC Sherlock, focusing on a range of pairings and characters.
1. Prompt 1: 2 AM

**DISCALIMER: **I lay claim to **nothing** but the story on this page. The characters and the show belong to ACD and Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss and BBC etc.

Prompted from Sixty-four Damn Prompts - A Multi-Fandom Prompt List. (You can find a link on my profile.)

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><p><strong>Prompt 1 – 2 AM<strong>

"What the HELL did you think you were doing?"

Sherlock didn't know anymore. The muscles in his legs were trembling, but he kept pacing around the living room. Two hours ago. The experience was still vivid in his mind; he was still shaking. The sniper shooting the gun from his hand. Jim Moriarty's laugh as the final seconds ticked past. The red dots fixed on their chests…Mycroft's arrival was excellently timed, his men efficiently taking out the snipers.

"You just had to have your thrill, didn't you?" John was still yelling.

Sherlock couldn't look at him yet, the guilt still pilling up inside his chest.

"You nearly had me, your brother, and a team of government agents killed! And yourself, though I'm beginning to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing."

_Sherlock had just managed to process their rescue, a few seconds faster than John, when he remembered his nemesis. Moriarty had disappeared through the double doors once more. Sherlock was about to give chase, but there was the jacket strapped with semtex still lying on the deck, and Moriarty still had the detonator. They were almost too late, the building exploding seconds after everyone poured outside, Sherlock still yelling at them all to run._

Now he had to look. The remark was spoken so viciously that he had to see John's face, if he meant it or not. Fearfully, he searched his friend's expression. John's face was full of anger, more rage than Sherlock had ever seen him possess. But there was a tremor in his cheek, a blankness in his eyes, and Sherlock could guess the other man was also reliving the memories from two hours ago. Well, he had been well taught by Lestrade on that subject.

Legs still shaking, he crossed the room and pulled a blanket out from under the couch. He moved behind John, who was collapsed in his chair, and tucked it around his shoulders. "You're in shock, John," he said gently.

"_You should have guessed I'd see your post, Sherlock," Mycroft had said as they picked themselves off the ground where they'd been thrown from the explosion. The calm in his voice was amazing. "I have people monitoring your site twenty-four/seven." Sherlock had never been more grateful for his brother but right now he was looking past him, searching the darkness._

John tore off the blanket, flinging it to the floor. "I'm not!" He roared.

Sherlock shrugged and bent down to retrieve the offending fabric. "You should get some sleep," he advised, absently wrapping the blanket around his own shoulders, pulling it tight.

"I'm not taking advice from you!" John snapped. He sat in silence while Sherlock paced.

_Lestrade had arrived. "Sherlock!" He yelled. "What have you done? What have you been up to? Are you all right?" The ruins of the building in flames behind them, Sherlock pushed him aside._

"I'm going to bed," John announced flatly after a moment. He got to his feet and crossed to the door. Now he was the one not looking at the other man.

"John," Sherlock said, almost hoarsely. "I have to…I'm really glad you're okay." His genius mind couldn't find a way to express his feeling articulately.

"Yeah," John said, his face blank now. "Well…" No jokes to be made this time. "Yeah, me too. Thanks to your brother." For a moment, he just stared at Sherlock, then he turned and left. Sherlock heard his weary footfalls on the stairs and tried to make out whether _'yeah, me too' _mean he was glad that _he _was okay or he was glad that _Sherlock _was okay. _He __is__ in shock, Sherlock thought._

A wave of exhaustion rose and engulfed him, and he sank into his chair, wrapping the blanket more firmly around himself. The clock across the room read just after two in the morning. Two hours ago, he had arrived at the pool. Ten minutes later, he and John were facing impending death. Of course, he had faced death before, but never so finally. He always had options before, his brain could always figure a way out. The gun in his hand could usually help, offer a way to escape. This time, it technically _did_ give another option. They had death or death. Two dead or three. Less was never more.

_Sherlock ran past Lestrade. John was collapsed on the ground, breathing deeply. Sherlock grabbed him and roughly dragged him to his feet. "Are you okay?" He shouted. "Are you okay?"_

_John stumbled. "Sherlock," he said weakly. They fell into each others arms, holding each other tightly, the physical contact reassurance that they had managed to get out of that mess alive. There were shouts behind them, Lestrade giving orders about clearing the area, calling in the fire department, finding out if anyone had been left inside. The smell of the explosion from moments ago was still strong in the air._

Sherlock let his head fall back against the chair, closing his eyes. He let the images drift across his mind, accepting the fact that there would be no sleep for him that night, making the most of it. Tomorrow, they would see. See how much of the evening, those fateful two hours, had carried over.

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><p><em>Set just after the confrontation with Moriarty. Just a possible way for them to get out of that, not necessarily what I think is gonna happen, but I suppose it's possible. <em>

_Are they slightly out of character? I think they're just really shaken by what happened, if not by thinking "I could have died" then by thinking "I almost lost you"_

_-Evealle_

_(Been a while since you've seen me, right?)_


	2. Prompt 2: Metaphor

_I **disclaim** the characters portayed here, of course. Just a short silly piece. I had a lot of trouble coming up with something for 'metaphor', so I actually ended up writing two...Here's the first._

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><p><strong>Prompt 2 – Metaphor<strong>

"Christ," John swore, rushing into the living room, water dripping from his hair, face, and clothes. He tugged his drenched coat off, crossing into the kitchen to hang it over a chair.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked absently, standing in the middle of the flat, absorbed in a book. He took a moment to glance over at his flatmate. "Take your shoes off," he scolded, tracking John's muddy footprints with his eyes. "You're making the place dirty." He returned to his book.

John turned and pointedly swept a gaze around the flat, completely taken over by Sherlock's mess. "It's raining cats and dogs out there," he said finally, choosing to ignore the comment. He did remove his shoes though, kicking them off as he plugged in the kettle, since he knew he'd be the one cleaning up the tracks he left. The thought of Sherlock actually tidying up was ludicrous.

"And why can't you leave your coat downstairs instead of letting it drip all over the – " Sherlock stopped midsentence and stared at John. "It is? Really?" Tossing his book aside, he bounded over to the window, twitching back the curtain to peer out at the storm. "Where?"

"What d'you mean 'where'?" John asked, padding over to look outside. "It's pouring out there."

"Yes," Sherlock replied, "but the cats and dogs. Where were they?"

It was John's turn to stare. "You've never heard that expression? 'It's raining cats and dogs.'"

"Not that I remember," Sherlock shrugged. "Why would anyone come up with an expression like that? Such morbid minds people have." John snorted. "What a mess it would be if it happened though…" He turned away from the window, pressing his fingers together thoughtfully. "All of those kittens and puppies smashing against the pavement." There was a light in his eyes now.

John sighed.

"I wonder how it would look," Sherlock mused. "It would be interesting to find out." John rolled his eyes, returning to the kitchen and beginning to fix himself his tea. "Mrs. Hudson has a cat, doesn't she?" Sherlock asked. "She seems like the type. I wonder if she'd let me borrow it…"

"Sherlock, stop," John called out, without much hope of being heard.

"And if I could get up on the roof of a decently tall building…" Sherlock continued, ignoring the plea. He swept across the room and grabbed up a laptop (not bothering to check whose it was), quickly pulling up several searches about animal rescues and the hours of banks and various company buildings across the city.

"I'll be upstairs if you need me," John said wearily, carrying his mug of tea and leaving Sherlock to his madness.


	3. Prompt 2: Metaphor 2

_Prompt 2 once more. This one a little bit different. John gets romantic on the phone and Sherlock just take it once he starts speaking with metaphors. I **disclaim** characters as usual._

_Oh, and the movie they're discussing is, of course, _Love Actually. _Silly John doesn't seem to like lovely Colin Firth._

_Yes, John is a bit out of character. I think he could be quite romantic and we know he loves the ladies, and while I could see him saying _some_ of the things, he does get a bit sappy. I probably should have excused that and made him drunk. That may be my next edit._

_But enjoy, don't think too deeply about it. Let me know which you like better, Metaphor 1 or 2_

_Cheers!  
><em>_-Evealle_

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><p><strong>Prompt 2.5: Metaphor<strong>

"No, no. I thought it was great," John said into the phone. A laugh. "Particularly the ending…Yes, even the bits with Colin Firth. Bugs me that they would both always be saying the same thing though. If it were me, I'd probably have been saying how much I love her while she's chattering on about toast or how she likes to scuba dive. That'd be my luck." Another little chuckle.

Sherlock swiveled his head up from his book to look over at John, sitting in the kitchen as he chatted with Sarah, an annoyed frown creasing his face.

"No, you're right, I have much better luck than I say," John amended. "After all, I did meet you…I love you too," he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair. He glanced into the living room at his flatmate. "On the other hand, I am stuck living with Sherlock, so maybe my luck isn't so great."

Sherlock snorted, his eyes fixed on his book once more, though his mind wasn't, the corner of his mouth twitching with displeasure.

"Yeah, as if that'd ever happen," John told Sarah. "You know he'll never change."

Hearing that, Sherlock's gaze sprung up from the page to stare angrily at his friend. What business did they have discussing him? The usual approach would be to blame Sarah, but he'd heard the words from John himself. _I am stuck living with Sherlock, so maybe my luck isn't so great._ What a terrible joke. He glared at John, his eyes shooting bullets.

"Hey, did your shower ever get sorted out? Cause I could always come over and," he gave a manly sniff, "take a look at it, if you needed…No, I'm not just fishing for an excuse to come by."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to his book. Couples could be so boring.

"Well, I'm glad you got it fixed anyway. Plumber didn't try to hang around too long, did he? …Okay, okay." John laughed. "I've been reading that book you gave me…Yeah, it's good. I like the way she writes. I wish I could be as good with words. Then I could describe how your hair looks in the sunlight and how beautiful I think your eyes are…You would? Well, I guess I could try," he replied, a smile playing around his lips.

Sherlock threw an alarmed look at the other man in the kitchen.

"Have I told you that your eyes were the first thing I noticed about you? Uh-huh. It was the way they caught and held the light, little flecks of gold in your green eyes…No, I'm not going to try that stupid line about stars. No need for violence. They're just the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen and have this intelligent glint that I've never seen in any other eyes."

An indignant "Hmmph" came from Sherlock on the couch.

"Not at all," John said into the phone. "No, not even his," he glanced briefly at Sherlock. "Too cold and calculating." He had looked away before seeing Sherlock's scowl. "No, I much prefer yours."

"Would stop talking about me like I'm not_ right over here_, please?" Sherlock shouted.

"Hold on a second, Sarah. Sherlock, I'm on the phone!" John called back. "What was that?" He was back to his call. "Yeah, so about your hair. Pure gold in the light. Your hair is woven from sunlight."

Sherlock let out a little whimper, frantically pulling his knees up to his chest to keep his book propped up and flinging his arms over his head, covering his ears. This was becoming terrifying.

John was laughing. "It's a metaphor, of course. Didn't you ever take English in school?" he asked teasingly. "Of course I know you did. No, I can tell you're extremely well educated," he assured her, the friendly banter continuing. "Why else would I be dating you? Didn't I tell you I think brains are sexy?"

Desperately, Sherlock pressed his arms tighter against his ears. He fixed his eyes on the text with determination, trying to absorb the words into his brain and block out the unbearable conversation coming from the kitchen.

"Of course I'm joking," John told her, his voice more serious now. "I love you." The smile on his face was full, engulfing his whole face. Sherlock threw him a glance and panicked. That was not a safe expression. That was not an intelligent expression. He forced his eyes back to the book.

"You've got to go? Oh, okay. Don't suppose you're free tonight, are you?" A pause, then he gave a sigh. "Of course not. You just don't have time for sad little me. Why are you laughing? Don't you have any sympathy for poor old John? …Ah, no. I should have known. Well, can I see you tomorrow night? …Sarah! I'll go crazy if I can't see you!"

Sherlock shoved his fingers into his ears then but could still hear John say, "D'you have to be so busy? …Ditch your friends. Yeah, yeah. I know I'll see you at work. It's not the same…I'll be lonely, you know. We_ need_ to be together more. Could we at least have lunch tomorrow? …Good, I can't wait…Yeah, I love you too," he murmured. His voice grew louder. "I'd love you more, though, if I'd be able to see you after work!"

"John!" Sherlock roared, yanking his fingers from his ears and hurling his book across the room where it bounced against the wall. "She said she had to go five minutes ago. For God's sake, stop murmuring your sweet nothings and hang up already!"

"Sherlock, I'm on the phone!" John called to him, his voice patient as if he were addressing a five year old.

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest with a flourish and rolled over, burying his head into a pillow. He recited facts in his head, trying to block out John. Harry's address. Lestrade's football team. The moisturizer Sally used. Try as he might, he could still hear what was being said in the kitchen. The conversation drilled through his thoughts, penetrating his brain. He rocked back and forth slightly. Where Anderson's wife worked. Mycroft's birthday. (Nope, he found couldn't remember that one.)

Finally, the blessed words came. "Okay, love you. Bye." And there was the beautiful sound of a phone being set onto the table. And then silence.

John sat at the table with a vacant sort of smile on his face. He was surprised by the pillow flung at him, hitting him painfully in the face. "Ow!" He cried.

"Damn you!" Sherlock shouted at him, stomping out of the kitchen.


	4. Prompt 3: Sky

_A bit more serious this time. Hopefully the timeline shouldn't be too confusing. And if you haven't read any of the blogs or sites mentioned, you should. (Take out the spaces) Just to keep us believing that these are all real people...They're done by the BBC. Connie's is slightly random, but it does have a mention of Molly as well as Sherlock and Moriarty trolling..._

_Molly's journal: www. mollyhooper. co. uk/  
>John's blog: <span>www. johnwatsonblog. co. uk  
>Sherlock's site: <span>www. thescienceofdeduction. co. uk  
>Connie Prince's site: <span>www. connieprince. co. uk_

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><p><strong>Prompt 3 – Sky<strong>

Sarah tapped her foot against the floor as she stared out the window at the early morning. Her mobile phone was clutched in her hand, the volume turned all the way up. She'd been up all night, waiting to hear from John. Nothing. She'd called him more than a dozen times. She'd been all over the internet, trying to find him online. She'd even called Sherlock (without answer). There was no news of him. He'd simply disappeared. She was worried of course, Terrified. She knew from experience what could happen when you got tangled in the affairs of Sherlock Holmes. The last time they had been kidnapped hadn't been pleasant in any way.

As her mind went back once more to the large crossbow and the spear aimed straight at her, the sand draining and the time ticking down, her foot tapping grew more frantic. Where was he? What was this pool Sherlock had been talking about on his blog?

John was due to show up at eight o'clock. When he didn't, she grew slightly concerned and had phoned him, figuring he had just been stuck in traffic or delayed by Sherlock. There had been no answer. Two more hours and she began trying to think if there was a reason for him to stand her up. They hadn't quarreled. The conversation when they last spoke was relaxed and playful. There was no reason for him to be angry at her that she could think of. And surely he'd have been able to send her a quick text if Sherlock had swept him off into one of his cases. Her phone had been silent though (excepting a text from one of her brothers, recounting a date he'd been on).

The sky was growing pale now. Sarah had already resolved that she would call the police by seven if she'd had no news then. If John had any other roommate than Sherlock, perhaps she wouldn't have been so worried.

It had been partially because of Sherlock's blog that she was so worried. She had eventually looked at it, had even sat there and figured out the third, unsolved cipher posted. She had already guessed what it said as she was writing the final words out. _SHERLOCK I HAVE FOUND YOU._ That had caused the fear to spring to heart. Anxiety pushed aside by pure panic. That had been shortly after midnight. Hours ago. Anything could have happened.

She abruptly turned away from the window, hurrying over to her laptop again. She had John's blog open already and she refreshed the page. No new replies to her comments. She quickly switched over to Molly's webpage and reread the message there. "_I haven't. And my boyfriend's disappeared as well. I'm going to the police."_

What did it all mean? Were they somehow connected? They had to be. It all had to do with Sherlock and that message. She thought about what she knew of Molly, from her blog and what John had said. She thought she could picture the kind of guy Molly would date. The inconsequential sort, a bloke who didn't really stand out and would never really amount to much, but who could be counted on to be sweet and understanding. Slow and steady. About the opposite of Sherlock, really. Sarah just couldn't picture how he would have gotten mixed up in it all.

It was when she'd first read Molly's reply that she began phoning Sherlock. Six rings, straight to voicemail. As soon as she'd hung up, burying her face in her hands in despair and letting her imagination sprint away because she suspected (this was before she'd seen his site) that Sherlock was involved somehow (which was never good), her own phone started to ring. She'd jumped, snatching it up and answering before looking at the Caller ID.

"Hello?" She'd said, her voice hopeful and eager.

"Is this Sarah?" A woman's voice asked on the other end.

"Yes," she replied, her breath catching in her throat. Not John, not Sherlock, not Molly's pathetic boyfriend. A woman. Was it someone from the police, a hospital? Calling to tell her about an accident? Was it the kidnapper?

"Oh, hi. This is Molly. We talked online?"

"Yes," Sarah repeated. "I'm John's girlfriend. Have you heard anything from him or Sherlock?"

"No, I was just about to ask you," Molly told her. "My boyfriend, Jim, has gone missing as well." Her voice shook as she spoke. "Truthfully, I've never been so scared before in my life. I have no idea what could have happened to him. I was going to call the police, but then I thought it might be too soon. It's all just so horrible. He could be anywhere. He could be dead!"

The conversation had lasted for some time, Sarah becoming more edgy and worried the whole time Molly spoke, coming up with ways the three could have been killed, her knowledge of bodies and the detail she put into her theories not helping Sarah at all. She had finally convinced Molly to hang up so their phones could be free in case someone tried to call with news and informed her that she was calling the police in the morning if they hadn't heard anything.

Sarah reread all of the posts again with a sigh. Then pushed her chair away from the table and stalked back to the window. She stared outside for a few minutes before she picked up her phones and called John. She stayed on the line until she heard his prerecorded voice say _"Hey, this is Dr. John Watson. Please leave me a message and – " _then hung up. She chewed her lip for a moment then redialed Sherlock.

One ring…Two…Three…Four…

"Hello?" answered a tired voice.

Sarah was so surprised that she let out a short gasp of laughter. "Sherlock?" She asked breathlessly, never so pleased to hear him.

"Yeah?"

"Oh my God, what has been going on?" She cried. "Where has everyone been? What's happened? Where are you?"

There was a pause. "All at once?"

"Sherlock, tell me what happened!" She demanded "Where's John?"

Another strained silence. "He's asleep here. He's _fine,_" he said, before she had the chance to ask.

"Where's 'here'? Where are you?"

"At the flat, of course, 221B."

"I'm coming over," Sarah announced.

"He's asleep," Sherlock repeated. "It's barely five in the morning." The sky was starting to grow pink.

"I'm coming over," she told him firmly as she grabbed her coat and keys and ran out the door. "And for God's sake, stay there. You have to tell me what happened." She hung up and started taking the steps two at a time. There were tears springing to her eyes. Hours of silence, assuming the worst, finally some news. She had no idea what had happened, but she knew that John was okay. The relief engulfed her as she rushed outside, running down the street to flag down a solitary cab.

Arriving at 221B, she didn't wait to knock at the door but flung it open, leaping up the stairs. Sherlock was standing by the window, dressed in a torn and bloodstained suit. He turned when she entered the room and she could see how tired he looked, dark shadows suspended under his eyes. There was something dark in his eyes that she had trouble identifying.

"What have you done with John?" Sarah asked. He stared at her almost as if he didn't recognize her. Somehow, he looked very vulnerable. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, and several beams of light slipped through the cracks of the boarded up windows. Impulsively, Sarah crossed the room and pulled him into a hug, her arms tight around him. There was a moment when, surprised, he tried to pull away from her. Then, he stopped straining and let her hug him.

She pulled away and sat down, her voice completely business. "Now, tell me what you've done with my boyfriend, you little bastard."


	5. Prompt 4: Lost Scenes

_Featuring Giddy!Sherlock and Weary!John. A scene mentioned in John's blog. "James Bond. You've heard of James Bond?" "I've heard of him, yes." "You haven't seen one, have you? Right, we're having a Bond night." I **Disclaim** characters as usual. _

**Prompt 4 – Lost Scenes**

"Sherlock, what the hell do you think you're playing at?" John asked, rushing down the stairs to the living room, where Sherlock lounged on the couch, a devilish look in his eyes.

"Mmm?"

"Mrs. Hudson would have a fit if you exploded anything in here and I'll kill you if you do." John threatened.

"Oh, come now, John," Sherlock said with a touch of innocence. "Am I really capable of such a thing?"

John snorted. "Just keep your hands off of my beer, okay? If you're going to wreck anything, make sure it's nothing of mine."

"Fine," Sherlock said, smiling complacently.

"Great," John said with a nod. "I'm going out. I want to rent some James Bond for us to watch. Stay put," he ordered. "I don't want you running off on some case that I _know you don't have_. We're watching these films," he said firmly.

"Okay." There was a dramatic sigh as Sherlock reclined on the couch, tucking his arm behind his head. "Are you sure you trust me to stay here alone in the flat? I could cause damage."

John paused in putting his coat on and gave his flatmate a suspicious stare. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Right," he said after a moment. "You're coming with me. It would do you good to get out anyway."

"What? No!" Sherlock protested. "I don't want to go anywhere!"

"Come on," John insisted. He grabbed Sherlock's coat from a chair and tossed it to the other man. "Get your coat on. We're going."

"I'm not dressed," Sherlock argued, looking down at his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt.

"Whatever, just keep your coat buttoned up," John told him. He had a firm, not-to-be-argued-with look in his face, so Sherlock grudgingly stood and shrugged his coat on.

"Fine," he sulked. John grabbed his shoulder and pushed him out the door and down the stairs.

By time they reached the video store, Sherlock had finished pouting and had stopped his complaints that this was cutting into his research time ("Research for what?" was John's reply, to which Sherlock had no answer) and that he needed to be at home practicing his violin ("You did that last night, _at two in the morning_, and this will just take a minute"). In fact, by the time they stepped inside, he'd become quite…giddy. John stared in wonder as Sherlock excitedly bounded over to a display showcasing some newly released action films.

"Look at this, John," he cried eagerly. John cringed at the loud volume of his voice, glancing around at the other people quietly browsing the store, and hurried over. "This looks good," Sherlock said, interest bubbling in his voice, as he held out a case picturing a large explosion.

"Uh-huh…" John nodded slightly. "Erm, I'm going to go find our movies. Just stay here and look at these. No need to go running around the rest of the shop. _Don't disturb anyone_," he instructed particularly firmly.

"Right," Sherlock said happily, picking up another film, this one displaying an intense looking male and a scantily clad female running from zombies. It looked, John thought, eying the woman, much more interesting than the first Sherlock had looked at...

John was engrossed in choosing just which Bond films he would show to Sherlock, when a loud giggle pierced the silence. His eyes immediately flicked up, scanning the store for his friend. He found Sherlock quickly, the tall man in a black coat easy to pick out. He had not, as John had told him, stayed with the action display but had appeared to have wandered over to the romantic comedy section. He was reading the back of a film with apparent glee. As John watched, another loud giggle escaped from Sherlock's lips. He quickly abandoned James Bond and hustled over.

"Sherlock," he hissed, "what're you doing?"

"Hmmm?" Sherlock asked, looking up from the DVD. "Oh, hello John," he grinned. "You have you hear this." He held up the case. "He's got to write a hit to perform with this pop star, so he gets her," he tapped the face of the actress, "to help him. And they fall in love," Sherlock finished sappily, batting his eyelashes. He giggled again. "It's so ridiculous, John! Can we get it?"

"What? No!" John said sharply. "Now, you pipe down and behave yourself. I'm going back over there to finish looking." Sherlock shrugged innocently and set the movie back. John gave him a final stern look and left him.

Minutes later, he was running back across the store to pull Sherlock away from a middle aged woman who was shouting at him. The consulting detective, it had seemed, had gotten down on his knees to look at the bottom shelf of the adventure classics and had been crawling down the aisle to look at them all, when he ran into the woman. Instead of crawling around her or, hmm, maybe getting up, he had shoved at her feet and told her to get out of the way. It had started a shouting match, ending with several kicks and shoves. John had gotten there just as Sherlock was tugging violently at the hem of her coat, trying to drag her out of his path.

"You've got to stop this!" John had lectured, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, pulling him to his feet and down out of the aisle. He dumped Sherlock with the horror films, instructed him to _stay there and be good_, and hurried back across the store to finish making his choices as fast as he possibly could.

He had crossed his fingers and hoped for the rest of their time in the shop to be uneventful. Crossed his fingers and hoped, but hadn't _really _expected it. How could he, sensibly?

He heard the raucous laughter first, looking up to see that Sherlock had made his way to the comedies and was having the time of his life looking at one of them. He quickened his pace in choosing his films, determined to get over there before Sherlock did any real damage. In his speed, he stopped looking up to check on his friend. The next thing he heard was the alarm going off in the store and the cashier shouting at someone to stop. He looked up to see the man running after Sherlock, just managing to catch him outside the door where a crowd of people had slowed the consulting detective, and dragging him back inside.

"…I mean, listen to this: 'He knows no fear. He knows no danger. He knows…nothing! When the priceless Crown Jewels are stolen…'" John listened to Sherlock read the whole thing as he nervously chewed the nail of his thumb. "It sounds brilliant!" Sherlock finished with satisfaction. "Stupid, but classic."

"So, you decided you had to pinch it?" John snapped.

"What? Well, yes," Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock," John began impatiently as they rounded the corner, "I had to lie to them in there."

"Quite quick thinking," Sherlock commended him, still engrossed with the film in his hands. "Telling them I was slightly mental and about to go on medication."

"Yeah, well you did a pretty good job convincing them," John commented sourly. "I've never seen you behave so poorly. You were like a young child on caffeine pills or something." John glanced sharply at his friend, new questions in his mind. (Questions like_ Have I seen any needles around the flat recently?_) _"_I'm never taking you anywhere again."

"But think of what I could have done to the flat if you'd left me," Sherlock reminded him cheerfully. "Look at this picture, pretending his hand's a gun." He chuckled happily, leaving John wondering how much of a lie he had really told back in the shop.

When they reached 221B, Sherlock bounded up the stairs with his DVD, which John had ended up renting along with the Bond films, and over to the tv. "Sherlock," John complained as he entered the room, "I don't want to watch this crap. We were going to watch Bond."

"No, this'll be really good!"

"How d'you know? You've never seen it." John was irritated. He had not just lied and ended up paying for an extra film, that he didn't want, just to let Sherlock have his own way. "I don't want to watch bloody Rowan Atkinson run around trying to be clever." He quite liked Rowan Atkinson actually, but he wasn't in the mood for him.

"C'mon," Sherlock wheedled. "If we watch this, I'll sit through all three of those Bond films you got."

"Without messing about on your laptop or trying to read through them? Complete concentration? No texting?"

Sherlock considered, then nodded. "Yeah okay." John sighed and sat down. He sat through the whole film, only getting up once to get a beer (and a dirty look from Sherlock, who giggled and chattered all through it). As soon as the credits finished, he leapt up.

"Right!" He cried. _Finally. _"James Bond."


End file.
